“Thank God it’s just history now,” Justine says. “Zanetti, too.”

Byron nods. “Sergio told me they’ve arrested Zanetti and his man Paolo. For obstructing justice and tampering with evidence.”

“Good riddance,” Justine says.

“They didn’t plan any of this, Justine, they just panicked,” Alana says. “Marcello is a broken man. I feel kind of badly for him. Nico, too. After all, Marcello is his wife’s uncle.”

Byron glances over to her. “How’s Nico doing?”

She’s glad to realize there’s no jealousy in his tone. “He’s got a lot to sort out. But Nico will land on his feet.”

No one speaks for a moment or two, and Alana watches as a technician crouches down to examine something in the dirt below him. She shakes her head. “For Arturo and Stefano to even believe the rat colony might still exist at the bottom of that chute after all those centuries . . .”

“And then to trap them and deliberately infest the rats with fleas,” Byron says, “without knowing if they even still carried the plague.”

“Oh, my God,” Justine groans. “After all this, I would’ve thought you two would have developed a bit more respect for rodent ingenuity.”

“Trust me, Justine, I’ll never underestimate that again,” Alana says.

Byron shakes his head. “I’ll give Arturo and Stefano this, they were committed.”

“They sure as hell ought to have been,” Justine snorts.

“Poor Stefano. What he needed was help. Instead, the man he trusted most in the world preyed on his mental illness.” Alana exhales. “I keep thinking about him in those final moments. What an awful way to go.”

Byron shakes his head. “I hope Don Arturo realizes the hell he put that kid through.”

“And I hope he rots in jail chewing on it,” Justine says.

Alana glances around the empty site again. “At least we’ve got Arturo’s handiwork under control now.”

“We’re not out of the woods yet, though,” Byron says. “Not even close. The plague is still raging in Naples.”

“There were fewer new cases reported today than yesterday,” Alana points out. “And none here in Genoa.”

He nods. “Let’s celebrate after a week goes by without a new case anywhere. Until then, it still could only take one stray rat—or person—to launch this globally.”

Alana holds his gaze for a moment. “It’s not the same as when Stefano was rogue. We’ve cut off the source now. Also, they’ll be mass-producing antiserum soon. The outbreak control measures you put into place are working. It’s going to settle.”

“Never a good idea to be overconfident,” he says, but his tone suggests that he agrees.

“Well, much as I’d like to listen to more of this awkward self-congratulation that passes for flirtation”—Justine points to the technicians in the pit—“I better go check on the boys’ progress.”

Alana laughs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually going to miss you, Justine.”

“They always do,” Justine says as she turns away.

Alana watches her descend the wooden steps into the pit and disappear behind one of the concrete forms. “I just finished reading the translation of Rafael Pasqua’s diary, Byron.”